Fullmetal Drunk
by Roxas-Key of Destiny
Summary: When Edward finds work becoming increasingly stressful because of a certain dark-haired State Alchemist, he turns illegally to alcohol for some stress relief. But what happens when his vice of reprieve leads to yet another sin, one he can't remember? Rating for language and theme. EdxRoy. Don't like it, don't read it. Also includes some underage drinking and implied sex.


**~AN~**

This was another description development. Continuation depends on support. I won't write more if no one likes it.

**DISCLAIMER:** I do NOT own Fullmetal Alchemist or any affiliated characters or concepts, though heaven knows I want to.

-Edit- I tweaked a few things, for anyone who's read this chapter already.

* * *

**Chapter One**

* * *

I order myself another drink, not even bothering to glance over my shoulder when the door opens. "Edward Elric?" a familiar voice incredulously inquires at my shoulder a few moments later, though I'm too drunk to place it.

"Whaddya want?" I query, my voice slurring slightly, and a little louder than I intended. _ . . . I hit this a little harder than I thought._

"Is that any way to speak to a Brigadier General? Much _less_ your commanding officer?"

I glance over my shoulder and smile, but the expression seems a little too goofy for what I intend. "Oh, hey, Brigadier General Mustang. What're _you_ doin' here?"

"I could ask _you_ the same thing," he replies, sitting next to me anyway. "You're underage, did anyone even card you?"

"Nah. They just assume. Since I'mma State Alchemist 'n all."

"Idiots . . ." He rolled his eyes, his expression one of distasted and contempt.

"So, Roy—"

"—Brigadier General Mustang—" he corrects.

"—how've you been? How was your day?" I inquire without skipping a beat.

"Uh . . . fine. Paperwork-filled as usual." His tone makes him sound confused. I know full well that I'm not acting like myself.

"Great! So, Roy—"

"—Brigadier General Mustang—" His correction becomes mildly exasperated.

"—what _are_ you doing here?"

"I . . . needed to relax a bit . . ."

"Why's that, Ro—"

"—Brigadier General Mustang. I've been . . ." He kept talking, but for some reason I lost focus, my mind wandering elsewhere.

"Wait . . . Whazzat?"

Roy sighs. "I've been stressed lately," he deliberately repeats.

"Oh . . . Poor Roy—"

"—Brigadier General Mustang—" he snaps.

"—Have you been coming a lot, then?"

"Yeah, but I guess not when _you're _here."

"Nah, I have irregular hours," I matter-of-factly state.

". . . So I see . . ."

"Has it been working, R—"

"—_Brigadier General_ _Mus_— never mind—No, it hasn't," Roy sighs, finally giving up on correcting me.

"Aw . . . wish I could help ya."

"And all since my last girlfriend dumped me," he murmurs, though with no provocation.

"Poor, poor, pathetic Roy," I mumble, patting him on the shoulder.

"Hey! I take offense to that!"

"Oh, sorry. Guess it just slipped out. But seriously, the chick's crazy." I roll my eyes as if to emphasize my point.

". . . Thank you, Edward . . . It means a lot that you said that."

"No prob. It's what I'm here for—whoa!" I flail around a bit, struggling to stay in my seat. I laugh, barely aware of the rest of the room anymore.

"Oh my god . . . . You are absolutely _wasted_. How long have you _been_ here?"

"Mmmm . . .'bout 'n hour," I reply.

"How many drinks have you had?" he accusingly asks.

"Mmmmmmm . . . . . . . six 'r seven."

"Oh my god . . ." Roy repeats, shaking his head.

"Whaaaat? Whasamatter?"

"That's ridiculous, even for you. Really, Ed . . . I have half a mind to take you home."

"Well, listen to the _other_ half and stay so we can have some _fun_!"

Roy looks at me wordlessly for a few seconds, then smiles, eventually laughing. "That's actually funny."

"Y'think cuz I'm drunk I'm not gonna have a sense of humor? Damn, you're cynical!"

". . .Sure, I could stay for a while," he replies once his laughter subsides.

"A while" turned out to be another three hours. We chatted and drank, wasting away the time. At about midnight, the bartender walks over. "I'm sorry, Brigadier General, but I'm gonna have to cut you off for the night."

"Huh? Oh, thanks, Martin," Roy says, handing him a wad of cash. "C'mon, Ed. I'm taking you home."

"Wha-? Don't I need t'pay him first?"

"I have it covered," he replies, clearly far less drunk than I am.

"Aw, thanks, buddy. You ain't half bad!" I stand, quickly losing my balance. Roy catches me, his strong hands supporting me by the elbows. "Whoopsies. Thanks," I mumble, faintly aware of an unusual sensation, like a butterfly fluttering around just below my ribs. Almost like the feeling that comes when falling, or when waking from a nightmare, though the two situations could not be compared to this.

"Come on, you bozo," he teases, throwing my left arm over my shoulder. He leads me outside and down the twisting streets of Central. I believe I know where we're going, but soon find myself to be wrong.

"Wait a sec," I mumble when we finally reach our destination. "This isn't the hotel. Isn't this _your_ house?" I look lazily up at a fairly nice house—for Roy's rank, that is. It seems far too large for Roy to live in alone, meant for two or more, like a family.

"Do you _want_ Alphonse to see you drunk like this?" he inquires, and I have to admit he makes some sense.

". . . That's true. Okay," I consent after a long pause. Roy unlocks the door, leading me inside. He sets me on the couch and goes back to lock it. "Wow . . . swanky place y'got here," I state, letting my tired eyes drift over fine furniture and decorations. Not a thing is out of place, and I don't see any dust. The colors fit together perfectly, everything in this room, at least, in shades of black, navy blue, and gold.

"Thank you." He crosses the room again. After moment of visible thought, he leans over me, a hand on the back of the couch.

"What're you—?" My question is interrupted when he kisses me, slipping a cool hand behind my neck. "Mmm . . . .!" My eyes flutter shut and I slip my arms around his neck once the shock wears off. Roy sets a knee on the couch, slipping his other hand around my waist, his fingertips resting on the small of my back. The light tickle makes me sharply inhale, barely arching my back. His tongue teasingly brushes my lower lip, and I decide to play along, just barely parting them. He deepens the kiss, pulling me closer to him. "Mm . . . Maybe," I whisper, pulling away only a little, "We'd be more comfortable somewhere else."

"I can't believe you're okay with this," he breathes, his lips hovering just a moment from mine. "It's . . . . so spontaneous and unexpected, not to mention illegal."

"Spontaneity and randomness is my specialty," I reply, choosing to ignore the mention of illegality.

"Oh, okay," Roy replies with a devilish smile. "Just don't go reporting me or I'll have you court-marshaled for slander." Despite his harsh words, his tone is too seductive for them to leave much impact. He helps me up, leading me to his room by the arm. As we walk in, he roughly shoves me onto his bed.

"Ouch . . ." I mumble, squeezing my eyes shut, at the jarring motion.

"Oh, sorry," he apologizes, pausing hesitantly in the doorway. His posture betrays an apprehension, as if he is unsure whether my permission still applies.

"Nah, I'm good. Just come here," I seductively purr, shifting my weight as I sit up on my knees. He smiles and crosses the room as he pushes the door shut, leaning towards me. I slide my arms around his neck, pressing my lips against his. His hand brushes up my side. I softly moan and tip my head back, my eyes closing, as he moves his lips away to kiss my throat. He kicks his shoes off, and I awkwardly follow suit as his hands pull my jacket off. I let my hands slip under his shirt as he slips his own jacket off, smiling as my fingers brush across his bare skin, and I pull his shirt off immediately after. His fingertips lightly brush my waist as he lifts my shirt off. My eyelids flutter when my head starts to spin. Roy pushes my roughly back, a low growl coming from the back of his throat. _Thank goodness Roy's too busy to notice,_ I listlessly muse as his hands lower to my hips to undo my belt. _I don't want him to worry . . . or stop._ As much as I want to stay conscious, I black out a few moments later.

* * *

I wake up tangled in my sheets in the hotel room I share with my younger brother, Alphonse, squinting against the light. "Al," I mumble.

"Yes, big brother?" he asks, and the pitch his voice has changed to still surprises me.

"Turn off the light," I plead, pulling an arm over my eyes.

"It _is _off, brother," he patiently informs me.

"Close the curtains, then," I grumble, yanking my pillow out from under my head to shield my poor eyes.

"They _are_ closed."

"Then why the hell is it so bright?" As longs as I've traveled with him, Al's patience has always been staggering. No matter what I do, it seems he's almost never upset with me.

"It's not that bright, brother."

"Wait . . . What time did I get home?"

"About two o'clock this morning. You woke me up, too." Yet he still doesn't seem angry, his voice holding its usual sweet tone. "You were being awfully noisy and clumsy."

". . . Damn. I'm sorry Al."

"And you're late for work, too." His lack of response t my apology tells me he's forgiven me already. It's when he says 'I'm fine' that I know I need to worry.

"What time is it?" I ask as my stomach drops.

"Eleven hundred hours in military time, big brother." He's learned so much about the military, just from idle observation.

"Damn it! I was supposed to be in at seven! Why didn't you wake me up!" I ask scrambling out of bed to get dressed in my uniform.

"I tried, brother. You were out like a light."

"If I'm not at work soon, I'll be—" I stumble against the wall as my nervous rambling dies in my throat. I raise one hand to my head, the other to my lips. ". . . Shit. . . I feel like I got hit by a bus, then thrown in a blender that was turned upside down and shaken . . ."

"Very descriptive, big brother." Despite his teasing tone, he looks at me with concern, silently asking if there is anything he could do to help. And there was.

". . . Al . . . Can you . . . Call me in sick? I think I'm gonna throw up…"

". . . Sure," he sighs, picking up the phone to dial HQ. "Hello, could I speak to Brigadier General Mustang, on behalf of my brother, Major Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist?" As he talks, I slowly walk back across the room and lay back down, closing my eyes while my head spins. "Get some sleep, brother," Al says a few minutes later, gently patting my head. "Roy will live . . . no matter how upset he is." This last statement he mumbles, barely audible, but I still catch the words, giving him a weak, worried smile.

"Thanks, Al. You're the best," I mumble. I try to roll over towards the wall when, suddenly, a sharp pain jumps across my torso. I gasp, then groan, curling up tighter.

"What's wrong, big brother?" Al inquires in alarm, peeking with his dim gold eyes over his shoulder, his eyes leaving the shopping list he was looking at until that moment.

"My god . . . what did I _do_ last night? My hips are _killing_ me!"

"I dunno. Just sleep. I'm sure you'll feel better in no time."

"Okay," I murmur, wincing against the pain. I close my eyes, my mind slowly fading to black. In my sleep, I hear Al leave to go for a walk. Almost simultaneously, images, scenes I don't recall, start flitting across my eyelids, burning into my memory. Strange sensations and emotions bombard my mind.

_Lips hungrily caress my throat and short hair tickles my ear and face. I look up at an unfamiliar ceiling. Likewise, unfamiliar sheets lay under me, their soft, silky smoothness pleasant on my bare skin. The very feel of them tells me just how expensive they are. I can feel someone's weight on me, one hand under my neck, the other on my right leg, just below my hip. I barely hear myself moan, as if through a tunnel, as the person's weight shifts, a strange feeling possessing me._

'_What _. . . is_ this I'm feeling?' I wonder through the haze._

"_Edward," a strangely familiar, masculine voice whispers, lips and breath tickling my ear as he drags his voice over every syllable of my name. "You may be young… but I've never been with _anyone_ so amazing." The man's lips move back to my throat, migrating to my collarbone, and I shiver in response to his nearly lust-driven tone._

_As my eyes close, his body moving against mine, I notice that feeling as it reemerges. My head tips back and I softly moan again, my breathless voice now forming just two unexpected words. "Oh, Roy…" I feel Roy smile against my neck, his left hand tightening just so, sending an almost pleasant shudder up my body._

"_You want more, Elric?" he lasciviously inquires, his voice as breathless as I feel._

_My head spinning in what now seems to be a sense of ecstasy, I smile. "Yes _. . . _ yes, I—"_

A harsh voice pulls me out of my bizarre dream. "What the hell?" I groggily mumble, in respect to both the intruder and the strange dream.

"Edward Elric, what the _hell_ do you think you're pulling here?" Roy shouts, just feet away from me.

"Nothing . . . I feel horrible," I reply, wincing. My head feels like it's in a vice, no thanks to his volume.

"Would you like to know _why_ you feel horrible, Fullmetal?" he asks, his voice like acid.

"What the hell's your problem, Roy? Why—?"

"—That's 'Brigadier General Mustang' to you!"

I glare at him, finally sitting up. "Why are you giving me such a hard time about being _sick_! None of the girls around here'll let you—?"

"—Don't you _dare_ finish that sentence," Roy hisses. "The reason you feel horrible is because you're _hung over_, Elric. You got _drunk_ last night. And _I_ had to drag you out of the place at _midnight_! Do you have _any_ idea how hard it was to carry your—?"

"—Wait . . . _Midnight?_" I incredulously inquire.

"That's correct, Fullmetal," he coldly replies.

"Al said I didn't get home until _two_ . . . and the walk is only ten minutes. . . What _happened_ in those _two_ missing hours, Brigadier General?" I accusingly question.

Roy stays eerily silent for a few moments before turning on his heel, the lack of explanation causing a sinking feeling. "I expect you to be in _at work_ by noon, twelve hundred hours, on the dot. If you're late by even a _moment_, there _will_ be consequences. It's eleven hundred hours now. I _suggest_ you get up now." He slams the door behind him and I flinch, the sudden loud sound feeling like an airless vacuum closing around my head.

"Damn . . . what bit _him_?" I wonder aloud before getting up and heading to the bathroom to take a shower, though I certainly pace myself. Once I'm dressed, I reluctantly head out, arriving at Headquarters after the usual twenty minute walk from the hotel.

"Major Edward Elric, Fullmetal Alchemist, reporting for duty," I sigh, weakly saluting in Roy's doorway.

Without once looking up from his work, he snaps, "You're thirty seconds late. That is thirty cumulative hours of overtime, without pay, that you owe me. You may divide it how you see fit, just get it done."

"What! But that's—!"

"Do _not_ argue with me, Fullmetal. You got off easy."

". . . Yes, sir," I resentfully mutter under my breath. _That's two hours every day for fifteen days… but then I wouldn't get home until after seven _. . . _ Then and hour every day for thirty days… It's a whole month, but at least I'll get home at a decent time _. . . I muse as I turn to tend to my duties. After work, extra hour included, I trudge down the street, kicking stray rocks from my path. "Damn him . . . Just because his love life's come to a screeching halt, he's gotta take it out on me . . . who the _hell_ does he think he _is_, the Führer President? Not likely he'll ever be with _this_ attitude . . ."

Without even realizing it, I walk into a bar and order a drink. A very short hour later, a hand clamps onto my shoulder. "Hey, Hey! What're you trying to pull here!" I exclaim, trying to shrug off my assailant's tight grip.

"Watch it, Fullmetal, you're in enough trouble as is," Roy growls at my shoulder.

"Oh, it's you, oh High and Mighty Brigadier General. How could I ever be worthy enough to talk to you?" I reply, rolling my eyes and irritably knocking his hand off. "Leave me the hell alone . . . You're the last son of a bitch I wanna deal with right now . . ."

"What I'm _trying_ to tell you, Elric, is if any other military officer sees you in here, they'll immediately report you to high command."

"I don't give a da—wait . . . 'any other'? You mean you're not going to?" My voice betrays my confusion. This made no sense. This was the man who had forced me to volunteer over a day's worth of overtime.

"I wasn't planning on it, no. Are you going to order another?" he inquires, nodding towards my empty glass. The harsh tone in his voice has faded, replaced by a more companionable note.

"Yeah . . . I guess so," I murmur in confusion, staring at the bottom of my glass. "Another vodka, please."

"You've been getting _that_, and you're not drunk off your ass? How the hell do you do that, and what's wrong with you?" His unusual informality is startling.

Choosing to ignore the first two questions, I reply "_You're_ making me work thirty—excuse me, _twenty-nine_—hours of overtime without pay, that's what's wrong with me . . . Now could you do me a favor?" I inquire, my voice becoming almost sickly sweet. In time with the words, said with such an endearing tone I want to punch a kitten, I innocently bat my eyes at him.

"Sure, what?" he kindly inquires. _Hook, line, and sinker._

"Fuck off."

". . .! What did you just say?" he asks, clearly taken aback.

"Go screw yourself . . ." Not a moment passes after I've spoken than he sharply strikes the back of my head. "Ow! What the hell!"

"I don't screw myself, I screw willing others," he hisses, suddenly in my face, all of the animosity from moments before returning.

"Oh, right, very likely. What girl'd wanna screw _you_? You're too uptight," I reply skeptically, rolling my eyes.

"I never said 'girls.' I said 'willing others.' Namely _you_, Elric," He seems to believe he's correcting me, but I don't have any idea where the truth is in it.

"Ha! Yeah, right!" I laugh, giving him a clear indication of my doubt.

"Just shut up and drink," he mutters in a commanding tone, sitting down next to me.

"Whatever you say, Brigadier General," I sarcastically sneer, turning back to the bar and the drink that the bartender had just brought up.

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**~AN~ **I know it cuts off kind of soon, but that's where it makes sense to me to stop. Please read and review!


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